Mon Dieu
by xenastar18
Summary: Big party at France's place. You can guess what happens.   WARNING yaoi and yuri. Boys' love, girls's love. Boy x boy, girl x girl. ...for those of us who are still riding the short bus, yaoi   gay sex and yuri   lesbian sex. YOU DON'T LIKE IT DON'T READ


"_Mon dieu,_ we have so much to do!" moaned Francis. He placed his elbows on the elegant marble counter of his home and pressed his face into his hands, whimpering in despair. "We must decorate! We have to think of games! We have to select a theme! We have to-"

"Relax, Francis," said Ivan lazily. The Russian was lounging on the couch, flipping aimlessly through channels on the television. "All we need is alcohol."

"But, this is the largest party that I've ever thrown, and-"

"What are you talking about?" snapped Ivan impatiently. "It's just the G8! Oh, and Prussia...and Hungary...and my sister...how did Prussia come to be included, again?"

Francis shrugged. "I think Matthew asked him to come."

"Ah, that explains it. But, really, Francis, you've done this a million times." Here he grinned suggestively. "Remember last time?"

France blushed deeply as he remembered the last party that he had thrown. It was a rather vague and hazy memory, but he believed it had included he and Russia singing karaoke together on the dining room table wearing nothing but pink aprons.

"Of course I do," he muttered. "But...Ivan. This one is more important to me because it's the first one I've thrown with you."

Somehow, in the blink of an eye, Russia was beside him, hooking his arm around the Frenchman's slim waist. Gently, he lifted France's stubbly chin to look into his eyes.

"That is why I want it to be the same as always," breathed Ivan. "They are fine just the way they are." Francis began to protest, but Ivan stifled him with a kiss.

"No more worrying, _da?"_ he said softly into France's thick blonde hair. He waited until his lover nodded softly before releasing his grip and returning to the couch.

Hungary arranged her long, silky brown locks into a lazy ponytail. Even tied up, her hair still fell to the small of her back. Elizaveta turned in a circle, examining the clothing that she had chosen to wear. Black skinny jeans clung tightly to her hourglass figure, and a green button-down blouse complimented her eyes. When Ukraine had called her bearing tidings that they were both invited to the coveted G8 party, the other country had been simply over the moon.

"Brother Russia called me and told me that we-and I just-oh, I can't believe it, Elizaveta!" Yekaterina had cried, her eastern European accent growing thicker with her excitement. "I'm making friends!"

Though she did not express herself quite as fiercely as Yekaterina, Hungary had been happy as well. Though she didn't know exactly why she had been invited, she was pleased nonetheless and didn't plan on risking this good fortune by asking questions. Despite her pleasure at being invited, Hungary did not intend to grovel at the other countries' feet. She would act as their equal as a nation, and if they didn't treat her as such, then she would leave. End of story. Pulling on her brown lace-up shoes, Hungary left to go and pick up Yekaterina.

When she arrived at the Ukrainian's house, she parked in the driveway and leaned on the horn. The door burst open, and Ukraine came sailing out. Hungary caught her breath. Yekaterina was wearing a button-up blouse much like Hungary's, but the buttons were straining to hold back the woman's...ahem...unusually large breasts. The first few were undone, showing off her impressive cleavage. She was also wearing skinny jeans like Hungary, and high black leather boots.

"I'm sorry, I've made us late, haven't I?" she cried hysterically as soon as she opened the car of Elizaveta's car.

"No, we're fine," said Hungary reassuringly. "Relax, Yekaterina. It's just a party."

"Yes," Ukraine replied breathlessly. "I suppose it is."

Matthew Williams glided expertly over the ice, swiftly maneuvering the hockey puck, blocking it from invisible enemies. His skates scraping, Matthew gathered speed as he shredded down the length of the rink, faster and faster towards the goal. When he was at a perfect distance, he slammed his stick into the puck with a perfect amount of force, sending it sailing into the net. Smiling quietly, Matthew glided a circle around the rink before returning to the goal to retrieve his puck.

"_Mein gott_, that was amazing!"

Matthew looked up to see his friend Prussia watching him from the door of the rink. Well, he used the word "friend" loosely, having no better adjective for their relationship. The Canadian assumed that Gilbert had come to retrieve him for France's extreme sleepover party of the G8 + Hungary + Prussia + Ukraine extravaganza. Or something like that.

"I _have_ been playing this sport nearly since my birth," laughed Matthew. He gazed affectionately at his worn out hockey stick. He would have to get a new one soon. The thought saddened him. He had had this one for a very long time, and it had served him well. Turning, he skated over to where Gilbert was standing, and the ex-nation stepped aside to allow Matthew to exit the rink.

"Come _on_, Mattie," whined Gilbert. "We're going to be late."

"All right, all right. Just let me take off my skates."

"Ah, _Angleterre!"_ cried Francis. Arthur entered the house looking slightly disgruntled, as he always did, and carrying two six packs of his finest English beer.

"Hello, Frog," the Englishman greeted him. "Where is everyone, then?"

"The parlor," sang Francis. Arthur rolled his eyes. It annoyed him to no end how the French nation insisted on using outdated words like "parlor." As England left the entrance, he heard America burst through the door, without knocking.

"Hey, France, dude!" cried Alfred. "I am TOTALLY pumped for this party, bro."

"I am glad to 'ear it," said France, somewhat sarcastically. But Alfred wasn't listening anymore, he had spotted the back of England's head and was charging towards him.

"Artie!" he cried, punching Arthur affectionately.

"I thought I told you _not to call me that!"_ roared England.

"Whoops, sorry dude. It's just such an awesome name, y'know? Arthur. _Arthur Kirkland._ Although, of course, not as awesome as..." here he paused dramatically, "Alfred FREEDOM Jones!"

England looked away in disgust. "Yes, whatever you say."

With a cry, the young nation ran towards the parlor, and reluctantly, England ran to catch up to him. The party was already in full swing, the alcohol flowing freely. Hungary was in the corner laughing with Russia as he refilled her glass with vodka. Ukraine and Italy were speaking very fast and incomprehensibly to each other, each with a bottle of German beer in their hands. Germany and Prussia were arguing...again, while Japan looked on with interest. All in all, the party was off to a relatively peaceful start. _Let's see how long _that_ lasts,_ thought Arthur darkly.

An hour later, things began to get a little wilder.

"Ya bloody git!" slurred Arthur. "I swear I'll-"

"Ah, no, _Angleterre,_ do not-ack!" Francis was cut short by Arthur beginning to strangle him. While Ukraine had at first been shy and quiet, speaking only to Hungary and Italy, she had now become considerably more relaxed the more drink she consumed, and she was attempting to teach Japan the dirty dance. Hungary was waving her frying pan about her head as she gave a passionate speech in swift Hungarian to Prussia. Russia was engaged in a rather creepy waltz with Canada, who seemed terrified.

"Hey, dudes! Everybody!" hiccupped America, jumping up onto the coffee table. His cheeks were red as apples and his eyes danced with fire. "Why don't we like, play spin the bottle?"

There was a unanimous chorus of yes, and a quick commotion as everybody struggled to find spots next to someone they fancied. Canada quickly broke free of Russia's embrace and stumbled over to the circle, his head buzzing pleasantly. On the way, he picked up another beer from the table. How many was that now...? He couldn't remember.

"Mattie!" someone called. "Over here!"

Matthew glanced over and waited for his vision to undouble. He saw Prussia waving him over, having saved him a seat in the circle. Russia sailed over carrying a chessboard and an empty bottle of some French red wine. Placing it in the middle of the circle, he glanced around ominously and said, "Let the game begin," before returning to his spot.

For the next hour, the group played spin the bottle. Matthew couldn't remember most of it, but there was a lot of yelling, cursing, sloppy kissing, and the occasional casual attempt on another nation's life.

By the time they finished, it was around 3 in the morning. The game of kissing having thoroughly aroused most of them, they all agreed that it was time to go to bed. Everyone got up, and Canada vaguely remembered France saying something, but mostly he remembered Gilbert pressing close to him and whispering, "Mattie..."

Matthew wet his lips, his heart throbbing in his chest. Tripping, his head spinning slightly, he chased Gilbert up the grand staircase of France's house. Halfway up the stairs, he grabbed Prussia, spun him around, and kissed him passionately, not hesitating to shove his tongue into the other's mouth. Gilbert returned his advances, their tongues interacting.

"Get a room, you two," said England irritably, following America up the stairs. Matthew broke contact with Gilbert reluctantly, their lips still touching lightly. Gilbert's eyes were on fire with passion. Together, they stumbled up the stairs, holding hands loosely. Gilbert fumbled with the handle of the first door they came upon, only to catch Arthur in the process of ripping off Alfred's shirt. Quickly closing the door on England's indignant shouting, the two moved onto the next one, panting heavily. Thankfully, that one was unoccupied.

No sooner had Canada closed the door then Gilbert shoved himself against him, kissing him roughly and shoving their bodies together forcefully. As they kissed, Matthew's hands explored Gilbert's body, rubbing his back and messing playfully with the waistband of his jeans.

"Why the hell are you still wearing clothes?" moaned Prussia.

"I don't know. Gilbert, fuck me. I want you to fuck me."

Grunting with pleasure, Gilbert dragged Matthew to the bed, and shoved him onto it. They fumbled with each other's clothing, Gilbert roughly pulling Matthew's t-shirt over his head and Matthew unbuttoning Gilbert's shirt with trembling fingers. Articles of clothing dropped off around them and onto the floor, until finally there were no more to take off.

Grinning, Prussia shoved his hands into Canada's inner thighs and rubbed him, causing the Canadian to moan softly, his cock beginning to grow erect. With a cry, Matthew lurched forward and straddled the other man's legs. He began to rub up his chest until Gilbert's nipples became hard. Whimpering in relish, Gilbert shoved his fingers into the Canadian's mouth.

"Suck," he commanded, and suck Matthew did. As he did so, he traced torturous circles with his fingers around the Prussian's erect cock. When his fingers were wet enough, Prussia took them out and shoved Matthew down onto the bed. He began rubbing up Matthew's groin. Suddenly, a feeling of intense pleasure mixed with slight pain washed over the Canadian.

"Gilbert!" gasped Matthew. "There. Right...there." Smiling lustfully, Gilbert continued to rub Mattie's prostate, causing him to arch his back and keen in pleasure. At the height of all his lust and pain, Matthew came, spilling all over he and Prussia's laps. Gilbert climaxed soon thereafter.

Sighing, they both fell to the pillows, breathing heavily, and allowed the alcohol to envelop them in sleep in each other's arms.

Elizaveta grabbed Yekaterina's wrists and dragged her up the staircase, giggling They tripped a few times on the stairs, more than a little drunk, the both of them. Elizaveta's world was a rush of noise and color and sensation, and right now, a great part of what she was seeing were Ukraine's breasts. Still laughing, she pinned Yekaterina to the wall.

"Yekaterina," she said, her voice heavily accented with excitement, "won't you share a room with me, tonight?" Ukraine blushed a little in surprise and pleasure, but readily consented. In a rush of adrenaline, Elizaveta shoved her lips to the other nation's in a sloppy kiss. Ukraine seemed surprised and unsure of what to do at first, but soon she began to kiss the other back with growing passion.

"Let's get a room," Yekaterina gasped, when they finally broke apart for air. Elizaveta nodded rapidly in agreement. Together, they scurried down the hallway. They passed France waving cheekily and saying, "_Au revoir,_ have fun!" but neither of them cared. Both of them giggled and blushed as they rushed by a room and heard England shout "Ah, yes, Alfred! _Right there, you bloody git!"_

When they finally happened upon an unoccupied room, they wasted no time in pressing themselves to each other, kissing, licking, and ass-grabbing. Yekaterina traced a circle around Elizaveta's lips with her tongue. Shivering with lust, Elizaveta shoved her hand into Ukraine's panties, causing the other nation to start in surprise. Moving expertly, Elizaveta began to finger her, feeling how wet she was with satisfaction. Yekaterina's trembling hands ran over her body, feeling the supple curves of her hips and eventually the softness of her breasts. Suddenly withdrawing her hand from Yekaterina's pants, Elizaveta grabbed her shoulders and pinned her to the wall.

"Take it off, bitch," said Hungary through a lustful grin, playing with the buttons of Ukraine's blouse. Licking her lips, Ukraine complied, tearing open her shirt in one fluid motion. Elizaveta wet her lips in pleasure as she beheld two of the most beautiful breasts in existence. Keening hungrily, the Hungarian shoved her face between them and slowly licked upward, starting in the depths of Yekaterina's cleavage and tracing a line up her chest until she reached her lips, and they resumed kissing passionately once more.

"Elizaveta," murmured Yekaterina, "take off yours, please." Grinning, Hungary complied, and soon they began to play with each other's jeans. Yekaterina gasped a little in pleasure when she saw the scanty thong that Hungary had chosen to wear.

"I planned for this," said Hungary mischievously as she slid Ukraine's pants off.

"You planned for this? With me?" asked Ukraine in surprised delight.

"Of course."

In nothing but their underclothes, they rolled onto the bed together, their legs entangled. Elizaveta massaged Yekaterina's hair and kissed her neck as the other returned the favor and began to play with the snaps of her bra. When it had fallen off, Ukraine gasped in delight and began to feel Hungary up.

"They are so small and cute!" she cried gleefully. Too aroused to say anything, Hungary fumbled with Ukraine's bra until it, to, was released. Now Ukraine's breasts were exposed. Elizaveta rubbed her up until her nipples stood erect, then began to suck on one of them as if breastfeeding. Yekaterina arched her back and cried out in pleasure. When Elizaveta finished with one, she kissed it, then began on the other. While she did so, Ukraine began to play with her thong, slowly pulling it off of her ass. Done sucking, Hungary shoved her hand back into Ukraine's panties and began fingering her again, while Ukraine slowly tugged them off of her body. Elizaveta continued to finger her and kiss her neck, until suddenly Yekaterina arched her back and cried out, "Agh! Elizaveta! I'm going to-" but she was cut off as she climaxed and came, splashing over she and Elizaveta's legs and the sheets.

After the orgasm, the passionate fire faded from Yekaterina, replaced by a quiet contentment. A similar thing happened to Elizaveta. Settling into the sheets, Ukraine opened her arms wide.

"Come, sleep in my arms, Elizaveta."

As Hungary settled, still naked, into Ukraine's arms, she felt a warm whisper in her ear.

"I love you."

Tears running down her cheeks in pure joy, Hungary replied, "I love you too." And then she fell asleep in the warmth and softness of Yekaterina's bosom.

The next morning, bright sunlight poured through the grand windows of France's house—a little too bright for his guests.

"Damn sunlight," muttered America as he stumbled down the stairs, without glasses, his hair and clothing disheveled. His head pounded painfully with every step that he took. England followed him, limping slightly. As soon as they had woken up, the Englishman had complained of hip pains as well as a headache.

_I _did_ fuck him pretty hard…_ thought Alfred with satisfaction. In the front hallway, he ran into his brother and Prussia. The Canadian was leaning into Gilbert's arms, his head resting on his shoulder. When they saw Arthur and Alfred coming, the two broke apart. None of them said anything, besides exchanging quiet "good mornings." Then the blessed, peaceful silence was broken by Italy trotting into the room, without pants on, shouting "Good morning, everybody!"

"Italy!" cried Germany, chasing him down the stairs. "Put on some damn pants!"

Seeming to realize for the first time that he was naked from the waist down, Italy turned around dreamily, and, "ve"-ing softly to himself, returned to the staircase. Germany kneaded his aching brow.

"I am so sorry—"

"My friends!" cried Francis, sailing into the room. Collectively, the five others cringed.

"Would you kindly keep it _down,_ Frog?" groused Arthur.

"Ah, but Ivan and I have made pancakes!" cried France in delight. As he spoke, Ivan appeared behind him, holding a bowl of batter and smiling. Somehow, even that innocent image of him managed to send chills of apprehension down America's spine.

"Pancakes!" shouted Italy in glee, as he flew down the stairs, now wearing pants.

"Food does sound good right about now," interjected Prussia. Shrugging, they followed France and Russia into the kitchen and sat around the table, pouring themselves glasses of orange juice.

"These aren't Screwdrivers, are they?" asked Canada, eyeing Russia and the orange juice suspiciously. Leave it to Ivan to spike their morning juice with vodka.

"No," replied Ivan, sadly.

Before anything more could be said, Hungary and Ukraine entered the kitchen, looking tired and battered and disheveled but happy, somehow, all at the same time.

"Ah, good, almost everyone is here," said Francis. "But, where is Kiku?"

"Ah, Heracles gave me a call," said Russia. "He said that Japan arrived on his door step at five in the morning, completely wasted, and…yes."

They all nodded knowingly. That was very like Japan when he was drunk. Things of that sort seemed to happen to him all the time.

Not hesitating any longer, France began to serve up the pancakes. No one spoke as they began to eat. Finally, Francis broke the silence.

"So," he said, raising his eyebrows. "Did you all have _fun_ last night?"

Eight pairs of eyes turned to glare at him.

"Well, I don't know about all of _you, _but Ivan and I had a simply _wonderful_ time."

Cringing, Russia dropped his face into both of his hands. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Yes, Francis, we_ really_ needed to know that." America began to nudge him and make eyebrows at him, smiling in a way that was meant to be subtle but really just…wasn't.

"Hey, Arthur, d'you remember when you—"

"_Shut up, you idiot!"_ shouted Arthur, turning a bright shade of red. America burst into a fit of obnoxious laughter, and the other nations couldn't help but join in.

"We heard you two shouting," said Ukraine, shyly. "Hungary and I. From our room."

This inspired a whole new round of hysterical fits of laughter, while America and England sat awkwardly and studiously avoiding each other's eyes.

"You do know that by not admitting that you had fun, you are basically saying that your partner was not good in bed, yes?" said France casually. Banging his fist onto the table, Gilbert jumped up.

"That is _not_ true!" he shouted. "Mattie was_ awesome._"

Examining her fingers, Hungary said, "Well, he couldn't have possibly been as good as Ukraine." Yekaterina blushed with pleasure at her words. Alfred banged his fist on the table.

"Untruth, dudes," he said seriously. "You _haven't_ been fucked until Arthur does it."

"No, not until Hungary does it!" cried Ukraine.

"Please. We all know that _Alfred_ is simply the best," scoffed England.

"No!" asserted Matthew. "Gilbert has a better fuck than _everybody,_ end of story."

"You idiot, I'll—"

And so the argument continued well into the morning, long after their pancakes had grown cold. Eventually all of the nations managed to gather up their things and stumble out the door, absently thanking France for a wonderful evening. And so, another one of France's legendary parties came to a close.


End file.
